Meeting of the Minds
by areyoukiddingmedude
Summary: What would have happened if Jean Grey and Psylocke (Betsy Braddock), two badass females with psionic powers, had forged a connection during X-Men: Apocalypse? (I mean, besides end up making out, obviously.) Love to hear what you think of this obscure ship!
1. Chapter 1

Jean Grey leaned her head back, a smile just ghosting at the corners of her lips. As the four teenagers cruised back toward the school, for a moment she could close her eyes and feel…normal.

Scott and Kurt and Jubilation were feeling different degrees of the same thing. Jubilation lived up to her name: the girl was delightfully uncomplicated and generally happy. Her thoughts and emotions danced close to the surface with very little pretense layered on top of them. There was some slight resentment at never being part of the top tier, but that was understandable, Jean mused.

Kurt was mainly feeling an overwhelming sense of relief, gratitude toward Raven, and deeper down there was a lurking fear of going back to his previous existence in Berlin. But he'd never had real friends before, and like Jubilation, there was a joy there, an innocence that Jean couldn't quite identify with.

And then there was Scott. Of the three of them, his emotions tracked alongside Jean's own most closely. She even heard the word "normal" in there a couple of times, followed each time by a darker, more sarcastic voice mocking him for thinking he could ever be normal. She didn't mind his angst, though – based on the hundreds of other teenage boy minds she'd encountered, his response to his current predicament was to be expected. So were his predictable feelings for her – the shy, tentative lust, the hesitation, the embarrassment if she didn't return them.

Well, this was what passed for "normal" for her, anyway. A casual stream of fairly uncomplicated thoughts and feelings, the sunlight on her face, the wind whipping her long red hair around –

And suddenly, it was all gone. The car, her new friends, everything. Jean was suddenly swept into a maelstrom of minds, a torrential downpour of consciousness. Some tiny corner of her mind processed that this was somehow tied to Professor Xavier, that he was currently pushing Cerebro to its limits in a search for…something. But mostly, she was just swept along in the current.

She watched as he filtered the search, effortlessly switching from humans to mutants. She felt rather than heard his warmth as he explained Cerebro to someone named Moira.

And she watched with morbid curiosity as his search zeroed in on a powerful consciousness that could only be Magneto.

Operating on instinct, her mind withdrew from his connection with Magneto, sensing that the intrusion would violate something personal. Still caught in the current, her mind cast around for other nearby minds.

She sensed others near Magneto. One was young, like her – she was idealistic, searching for a hero she could emulate, for power beyond her own. One was slightly older, but far more jaded – he felt like Kurt to her, broken in a way she couldn't understand.

The next mind she almost touched, but recoiled instinctively. It was dark, ancient, terrifying. Jean's own mind curled into a tiny ball, motionless as a rabbit paralyzed by fear. Only when she realized that the mind was completely uninterested in her did she risk searching again.

And then she froze again. Because this mind looked right back into hers. This mind was calculating, cold, amused, contemptuous, confident. This mind held Jean's in an iron grasp while she was too stunned to struggle. It turned her mind over, sifted it through its fingers, laughed delightedly when it felt her looking back.

 _Well, well. Who do we have here?_ _One of Xavier's little pets?_

 _Jean…Jean Grey_ , her mind stammered back before Jean could stop herself.

And then she panicked, and that was enough to break the connection with Cerebro, and as that cold mind searched in vain for hers once more, Jean Grey snapped back into herself.

The car had just stopped. None of the other three had noticed her little reverie, and as Jean shook her head and looked around, she realized why.

The school, her home, the only safe place in her world – it lay in ruins.


	2. Chapter 2

Looking back on that day, Jean could never figure out how they did it. How the three of them (Jubilation got lost somewhere along the way, but she and Kurt and Scott stuck together) instinctively knew to hide from the military helicopter among the ruins, how she knew to shield them from the searching guards, how they managed to get aboard the helicopter. None of it made sense when she examined it rationally.

But all of it – that entire unbelievable adventure – paled in comparison to what happened each time she closed her eyes and dozed off, even for a minute or two.

The first time was on the helicopter. Once the teenagers realized that their powers wouldn't work in the hold, Jean closed her eyes and tried to get a moment's rest.

The second she dozed off, she found herself in an incredibly vivid dream. She stood all alone, in a twilit expanse of nothingness. Her first thought was _I'm dreaming_ , and then she heard a cold laugh.

 _Well, if it isn't Jean Jean Grey. And no – you're not dreaming._

Jean turned then, and she instinctively gasped and took a step back when she saw a backlit figure there with her.

Then she froze as the figure came into the dim light. It was…a woman. Not a woman Jean had ever seen before. She was slightly shorter than Jean, which made her no less intimidating since she held herself like a warrior. Her hair was raven black, with a tinge that was…purple?

And she was absolutely gorgeous. This thought hit Jean with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Her shoulders were thrown back, and she walked with such confidence, and she had this like perfect face and Jesus Christ, were those _freckles_? and wow, Jean had never noticed another woman's boobs before but goddamn–

Then she heard that laugh, low and mocking, inside her head.

 _You really are a fucking teenager, aren't you?_

And, utterly mortified, Jean realized that this woman, whoever she was, could hear every thought in her mind.

She fired back without thinking: _Right, because that outfit definitely says 'Don't objectify me.' Were they out of the crotchless ones, or…?_

This time the laughter was more amused, less mocking. _Ooh, it has claws. This will be even more fun than I thought._

 _Who are you? Where am I?_ Jean thought, almost desperately.

The woman kept advancing until she was less than a foot away. She cocked her head to one side and regarded Jean thoughtfully, squinting her eyes a bit as if she were peering even deeper into her soul. Then that cold voice spoke: _One question at a time, not that you deserve even that much. We're in the astral plane, you little shit._

She stepped even closer. Jean thought about backing away, but found herself rooted to the spot, nearly breathing the same air as the mysterious woman. _And when I find you, I'm going to–_

"Jean? Jean!" Scott was shaking her awake. Jean came to with a grunt, taking in the cage aboard the military helicopter and the worried looks on both Scott's and Kurt's faces, which mirrored the waves of concern for her coming off of both boys.

"Are we there yet?" she managed to croak out, with a weak grin.

Scott and Kurt exchanged a look. "The helicopter landed a few minutes ago, and whatever anti-mutant force field was affecting us powered down," Scott said.

" _Ja_ , we've been trying to awaken you up ever since," Kurt added. "Are you okay?" He tried to make the "OK" sign, but with his fingers it just wasn't happening. Jean grinned at him and patted his hand, appreciating the effort.

"I'm fine," she lied, thankful (not for the first time) that they couldn't read _her_ mind. "Let's get out of here and find Professor Xavier and the others."

Somehow, they did. And somehow, they managed to escape. (Jean thought privately that if she hadn't set free that mysterious Weapon X guy, none of it would have worked.)

And later, buckled safely into their escape plane, with Beast piloting and Dr. McTaggart as co-pilot, Jean finally felt safe enough to relax. She was scared (who wouldn't be?). It wasn't until Raven revealed that even _she_ , the all-powerful Mystique, was scared on her first mission, that Jean allowed herself to close her eyes.

Her heart beat faster in anticipation of where she would find herself next.

And she wasn't disappointed.

With a jolt, Jean went from safely strapped in to her seat on the jet to standing on the vague, formless – what had she called it? – astral plane.

She whirled around, searching for the mysterious woman. But this time, she was all alone.

Until…

 _Aw, did you miss me, sweetheart?_ She felt, rather than heard, the mocking voice in her head. _You're like a lonely girl looking for her friends at the bar. Pathetic,_ the voice continued.

Then she swore she felt hot breath on the back of her neck. _Wait – forgot who I was talking to. Have you even been to a bar?_

Jean whirled to find the woman standing right in her space. _I'm seventeen_ , she thought huffily.

 _Jesus Christ_ , she heard the woman say. _When I was your age…never mind._

Jean was losing patience. She grabbed the woman by both wrists. _Who are you?_ she thought angrily.

The woman clucked her tongue at Jean and smirked. _Tsk, tsk,_ said her voice in Jean's mind. _Who knew the little bird had a temper?_

This set something off in Jean's mind. _I'M…NOT…LITTLE!_ she thought forcefully. Still clutching the woman's wrists in both of her hands, she squeezed as hard as she could and bore down, trying to get whatever advantage she could. She focused on nothing but the desire to truly _see_ her.

And the vision changed. One moment they were on the formless astral plane, and the next moment the woman was gone and Jean found herself alone in a room with several figures.

She saw two sleeping people with pale mohawks – one white and straight, the other blond and curly. She recognized them as two of the minds she'd touched when she was connected to Professor Xavier and Cerebro. Neither of them were who she sought.

She saw two men, both seemingly awake and lost in thought. One was the dark, ancient force she'd felt through Cerebro, and the other (she recognized him from 10-year-old TV clips) was none other than Magneto.

And then the clouds must have parted, because a shaft of moonlight fell through the window just then and illuminated a third sleeping figure.

Jean knew instantly who it was. All the same features were there – the purple-tinted hair, the freckles – but the version that the woman kept projecting into the astral plane didn't capture how _innocent_ she looked while sleeping.

 _Wow, she's…beautiful,_ Jean thought before she could stop herself.

And then the woman was beside her again, terrifying and sexy as always, fear and rage radiating from her in waves. Jean felt too triumphant to be scared. _Guess you need to work on your Occlumency,_ she smirked.

 _What?_ hissed the woman.

 _It's from Harry Potter_ …Jean began, but before she could finish, the woman growled _How dare you invade my mind like that_ – and then slapped Jean across the face.

She came to with a shock, still strapped in to the plane with the others, gasping and holding a hand to her face. When Raven looked at her with concern, Jean just said a hasty "I'm fine" before engaging some of the others in conversation.

Jean couldn't shake the feeling that she'd done something wrong – that she'd crossed a boundary, invaded the other woman's mind in a way she shouldn't have. But that was absurd. She was worried about a supervillain's feelings, for crying out loud.

(Why, then, didn't she tell anyone – even the professor – about what she'd been experiencing? Jean wasn't ready to face the truth of that just yet.)

She leaned her head back against the seat rest and focused all of her energy on staying awake for the rest of the flight.


	3. Chapter 3

It was absurd, really. A handful of teenagers and their chaperones, desperately fighting against an invincible foe in the vain hope that they could prevent the end of the world.

Jean could feel their fear, their desperation, their regrets, and a few months ago it would have overwhelmed her, leaving her a sobbing heap on the ground.

But she was starting to discover reserves of strength in herself that she didn't know existed. They all were – she could feel a layer of steel beneath their collective fear.

The most surreal thing for Jean was that their struggle to avert the apocalypse was almost a relief. She shook her head a little, laughing to herself. _Yeah, Jean, thank goodness this crisis came along to take your mind off that woman._

She still felt guilty about the way she'd invaded the woman's mind, and she wasn't sure what to make of that, or of their last encounter. She couldn't figure out the discrepancy between how the woman appeared on the astral plane and how she looked lying there on the floor. It was like she was projecting some tougher image when she met Jean in her dreams – roughening up her soft spots, hiding that effortless beauty behind skimpy armor and an attitude.

Or maybe the version on the astral plane was how she saw herself? And the sleeping woman on the floor was the first time Jean ever saw the real her?

 _Ugh_ , thought Jean. _I'm doing it again._

She focused on her current surroundings. They were in Cairo. Mystique and Quicksilver were trying to reach Magneto, and Jean was in the room with Professor Xavier, Hank, and Scott. En Sabah Nur was literally trying to destroy the world. It probably should have been easier to focus.

But then, Jean hadn't been sleeping well lately.

Then En Sabah Nur disintegrated the wall that was protecting them. They were completely exposed, and while Jean stayed with the professor, the others went out to join the fray.

She caught glimpses of Kurt battling the blond mohawked guy, light glinting off his metal wings. Of Scott, firing his eye beams at En Sabah Nur with hardly any effect. Of the weather-controlling girl, firing wind and lightning at whichever member of their team she was engaging at the moment.

And of Hank, a whirlwind of blue fur, battling for his life against…of course. It was _her_.

She wore the uniform that Jean had seen her in on the astral plane. From this distance, she couldn't make out the details, and she couldn't spare enough of her focus to go into Hank's mind. But she saw a blur of purple hair, black latex, and what looked like a neon pink sword – wait, a neon pink whip?

 _Jesus, girl, get your head in the game_ , a cold voice said in her mind.

Jean snapped her head up, stunned, and looked across the battlefield. She saw her, and it was like everyone else disappeared. All the chaos, all the fighting, everyone's desperation. They were the only two people in the world.

Then the woman vaulted behind some wreckage and the connection was broken.

Now Jean looked at the sight laid out below her. They were losing.

And she heard another voice in her head, and suddenly she was being called into the mental battle between Professor Xavier and En Sabah Nur – and Jean knew in that moment that it was all up to her.

She stepped into their shared vision, standing tall. She faced down the giant.

And then – nothing.

Later: _Is it weird that I'm not even surprised by this anymore?_ Jean thought as she found herself in the void again.

She felt the other woman's cold amusement, so she knew she was there, but her comment went ignored.

 _What…what happened?_ Jean asked.

 _How much do you remember?_ The woman's voice was quieter than usual. Or…less forceful? Jean wasn't really sure if the rules of physics applied to psychic communication, if concepts like "louder" and "softer" existed in this plane.

 _I remember…facing your master._ The other woman bristled at that. On the surface, it was because she took offense to the word "master," but as Jean probed deeper, she sensed some regret, even…sadness? She felt the other woman push back, so she backed off.

 _Oh, so you don't remember exploding into a giant firebird and melting En Sabah Nur?_

She said it so bluntly that it took Jean by surprise. Absurdly, the first image that popped into her head was a Pontiac Firebird (she felt the woman's snort of laughter at that), but then she processed the rest of the sentence.

 _I…I melted him?!_

 _Saved the day, kid. Congratulations._ It was flippant, bitter even, but Jean sensed a grudging admiration behind the words.

 _Show me_ , she whispered.

And then their minds were intimately connected, and the woman let her relive the events through her own eyes.

Jean pulled away, panting from exertion and overwhelming emotion. She had fallen to all fours while experiencing the battle, and she looked up at the woman standing above her.

And Jean smiled. _Betsy, huh?_

She barely had a second to register the surprise in the other woman's eyes before Scott was shaking her, saying her name over and over, and she woke up with a shudder right there on the battleground.

She was still smiling.


	4. Chapter 4

The journey home passed in a blur. Jean was awake for all of it, just barely, too exhausted to sleep. And when they got to the school, Jean and Magneto instantly volunteered to repair as much as they could (although Jean recommended that the professor arrange for a full plumbing and HVAC inspection – telekinesis can only accomplish so much).

So she didn't see her mystery woman…Betsy…for almost a full day and night.

(And she didn't realize that she'd thought of her as _her_ mystery woman.)

The students gradually trickled in from where they'd been taking refuge. Some of them had gone home when the school was destroyed, and the ones that didn't have a home to go to had huddled together wherever they could find shelter from the cataclysmic events. But eventually, they were all accounted for.

Some of the furniture was miraculously intact, but of course the bedding was destroyed. So they found sleeping bags and blankets and stretched out where they could. For several weeks, it would be more like a refugee camp than a school as they all recovered.

Jean found herself alone in her room, lying on a sleeping bag where her bed used to be. It felt like a lifetime ago that the professor had helped her out of her nightmare, but it had been what…3 days?

She smiled a little in anticipation as she drifted off to sleep.

But she didn't see her that night.

Jean tried to hide her disappointment when she woke up the next morning. But – hide it from whom? She scoffed at herself. The girl who could read minds, trying to bury something in her own – the irony wasn't lost on her.

She spent most of the day on repairs – she and Erik (it was still hard to think of such a mythic figure by his first name) had put the structures in place, but they hadn't had much time for interior decorating.

So Jean wandered from room to room, sweeping up debris, occasionally challenging herself by repairing a broken vase, that kind of thing. Not surprisingly, the prevailing emotional state was a mix of exhaustion and relief and apprehension and uncertainty and a certain guilty exultation at having survived. She cast around for any alarming emotional spikes – someone who was a little more desperate, a little darker – but other than the people who had lost someone in the battle (and Scott, who'd lost his brother right before), she didn't feel anyone too out of place.

She didn't avoid Professor Xavier, exactly – she just kept her distance. It wasn't that she thought he would probe her mind and discover whatever weird thing she had going with Betsy; he was far too genteel and in control of his powers for that. But she knew she'd be giving off a strangely conflicted emotional state, and she wasn't ready for him to gently confront her about it.

She saw her friends – Jubilation, Kurt, Scott – and that was nice, she sort of appreciated them in the abstract.

She just didn't feel like the same Jean Grey anymore. That Jean Grey never came back from Cairo.

Jean lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, feeling adrift. Finally, she rolled over on her side and shut her eyes.

When she opened them again, she was standing alone on the astral plane.

After a moment, she heard a voice: _You again._

So maybe not alone, then. Jean looked around (there was that physics thing again, hard to tell where a voice was coming from when it was inside your head) and spotted her. She was sitting a short distance away, with her knees bent up and her arms folded loosely across them.

 _Yep, me again._ Jean approached her a little hesitantly. She paused a few feet away and sat down, facing the other woman and mirroring her posture. Jean paused, unsure what to say.

 _I see you finally found some pants,_ she blurted out (if one can blurt thoughts).

The woman actually laughed at that. She was wearing what looked like black yoga pants over her typical costume. _Would it help if I told you I stole them?_

Jean shrugged. _Maybe._

They watched each other for a moment, still wary. But this time it felt different somehow.

 _Look, you can stop calling me "the woman" now. Betsy is fine._

It took Jean by surprise, even though of course with their connection she'd be able to hear how Jean thought of her. All of it. _I'm sorry_ , Jean thought suddenly.

Betsy raised an eyebrow in her direction. _You mean, for that time you mind-r–_

 _Hey!_ thought Jean. Betsy just smirked at her. Jean leaned back on her hands and stretched her legs out in front of her, crossing them at the ankles. Their feet were inches apart now. Jean went on, _I'm sorry that I forced the connection that time. I – I don't have the best control over my powers yet._

Betsy snorted, which seemed to be her go-to response. _Yeah, I got that from the whole "exploding firebird" thing._ She arched an eyebrow at Jean, who felt herself blushing (did that show up in the astral plane?).

 _Why are you so nervous?_ Betsy nudged Jean's foot with her own.

 _I'm not_ – Jean realized it was pointless to lie. _I'm stuck on the astral plane with a supervillain,_ she shrugged. _I feel like any girl would be nervous._

 _You're not just any girl, though, are you?_ Betsy was regarding her thoughtfully. She hadn't moved her foot back yet, so one of her feet was still touching one of Jean's. (Jean thought she saw a little smile on Betsy's face as that thought flitted through Jean's head.)

 _I guess not,_ thought Jean, looking down. Then she looked up a little. Betsy was still watching her. _But you still make me nervous._

She felt a little thrill run through Betsy at that, and then the other woman's eyes narrowed. Jean met her gaze. _You know I'm not lying_.

The moment stretched out.

Then Betsy suddenly rose to her feet in one fluid motion and walked away. _Wake up, kid_.

And Jean did.


	5. Chapter 5

It was strange: they'd averted the apocalypse, yet all of this rebuilding had a post-apocalyptic feel to it. Jean was learning to distinguish the nuances of people's emotional responses, to control for the fact that almost everyone came out of the battle a little more hardened, a little more world-weary. A little more grown up.

There was still enough survivor's guilt to go around, but for the most part people were focused on moving forward now.

They got the plumbing working, the lights on, filled the school with furniture and art, restocked the pantry. They started holding classes again – the school would always be, first and foremost, a place of education.

And they started to become X-Men, too. Jean felt a surge of proud every time she sensed Scott's dogged commitment, Kurt's hopeful self-confidence, Peter's pure elation. She reveled in the physical pain – she'd lived in her mind her whole life, and it was freeing to push the limits of what her body could do.

The strangest part for Jean was learning to fight alongside Ororo, their former enemy. She understood the professor's capacity for forgiveness, could feel the sincerity of it in a way no one else could. That wasn't the problem.

The problem was the longing Jean felt for another former enemy. Why was Ororo here, and Betsy wasn't? It nagged at her, more than it should have.

It had been almost three weeks since she'd seen her. Betsy no longer called her to the astral plane (or however it worked). Jean guessed she'd pushed her away by showing that little bit of vulnerability. Who would have thought the big, bad warrior would be scared away by a little…crush, or whatever it was?

Jean told herself, _Screw her, I don't need her_.

But every night, she fell asleep with a little voice of hope in her head.

One day, she and her friends ate a picnic lunch by the ruins of the professor's favorite tree. It was a perfect day, a glistening sunny dream of a day. Kurt excused himself so he could go practice precision teleporting, and Jubilee (she'd pretty much dropped the _-ation_ ) said she had to go study for a test.

Jean and Scott leaned against the wrecked tree. Scott idly threw rocks in the air and eye-blasted them before they could hit the ground.

Jean cast her mind over to the school, doing a light sweep, looking for trouble. So she was taken by surprise when Scott leaned over and pressed his lips lightly to hers.

She looked at him, stunned. "I'm – I'm sorry," he stammered. "I figured you would know I was going to do that, and you could run away if you didn't want me to, so…"

"No, it's fine," Jean said. "Don't worry about it."

It was even more awkward for her than for him. Well, maybe close, because she could feel how mortified he was. But all Jean could think about was how she _should_ be feeling about it – cute boy, beautiful day, romantic setting – and it wasn't how she felt at all.

She gave Scott her most winning smile and said, "Want to head back?" He smiled back, still embarrassed, but joined her on the walk back to the school.

That night, she tossed and turned and couldn't get to sleep for hours. When she finally drifted off, her last thought was _Betsy…_

And at last, Jean found herself in the void. As usual, she heard her voice before she saw her.

 _A little bit of footsie and you run off for weeks? Real mature, kid_.

Jean whirled, suddenly more angry than relieved. Betsy was standing there, arms crossed, watching her and smirking. Jean walked right up to her and put her hands on her hips, fighting the urge to poke her in the chest. _I_ _ran off? I'm the immature one? Okay, a), I'm seventeen, so I'm allowed to be a little immature, and b), YOU'RE the one who ran off because I told you you make me nervous and that freaked you out or whatever, and c), I am not the one controlling whether we show up here or not, that's on you, and…I forget what letter I was on._

She felt Betsy's mix of confusion and amusement. The amusement, Jean was used to – most things she said seemed to make Betsy snort. But the confusion was new, so Jean probed there before she could help herself.

 _Wait – did you think I was controlling this astral plane stuff somehow?_

Betsy shrugged. _I don't know, kid. At first, it was all me. Once we'd established our…connection, I could feel you whenever you fell asleep, and I'd just kind of see us on the astral plane and then we'd be there._

 _Then what about the past three weeks?_ Jean asked.

Betsy shrugged again and took a step back, putting a little distance between them. She sat down on the ground in the same pose Jean had seen her in before, then patted the ground next to her and quirked an eyebrow.

Jean didn't even hesitate. She sat down right next to her. Her curiosity was getting the better of her – she had to know how this astral plane stuff worked.

 _So impatient,_ Betsy smirked. Jean had gotten used to being alone with her thoughts – she'd forgotten that Betsy could hear everything while they were here.

 _Yep, I can._

 _Dammit, stop doing that!_ Jean shot back at her. _Just…tell me about the past three weeks. Every night that first week, I'd fall asleep thinking I'd find myself here. And then…nothing._

Betsy was watching her intently. _Nothing changed on my end_ , she said. _I could still feel when you fell asleep – your mind relaxes, makes it easier to make contact with you – but when I thought about us being on the astral plane, nothing happened._

Jean shook her head. _That can't be right_ , she said. _I wasn't doing anything to block you._

 _What changed today?_ Betsy asked.

Before she could stop it, the image of Scott kissing her by the tree flashed through Jean's mind. She was worried Betsy would jump to the wrong conclusion, and she did feel her tense when the kiss happened. But of course, Betsy could also feel Jean's reaction – or lack of one – and she smirked knowingly.

 _I'm sensing…great disappointment_ , she said, still with that infuriating smirk.

 _Oh, shut up_ , Jean said. _He's a nice guy. I really like him._

Betsy snorted. _You don't need "nice."_

 _Like you'd know what I need_ , Jean thought defensively. _Anyway, what's the point of this? What does this have to do with why we're here now after three weeks with no contact?_

 _If I tell you what I think, will you promise to shut up and let me finish?_

 _Probably not_ , thought Jean with a grin.

Betsy rolled her eyes, but Jean felt her genuine amusement. _Look_ , Betsy began, _I think that you somehow blocked me after the last time. Not sure how, but subconsciously something scared you and you wanted to stay away._ Jean took a deep breath (was there oxygen here?), trying to avoid having a knee-jerk response.

 _And then_ , Betsy went on, _today when Little Mr. Laser Eyes kissed you…it made you think of me._

Jean bristled at that. _Ah, you're bristling at that_ , Betsy said with her usual cold amusement.

 _I hate this psychic shit sometimes_ , Jean grumbled. _And I think you can do better than "Little Mr. Laser Eyes."_

 _That's probably true_ , Betsy conceded. Then she narrowed her eyes and looked at Jean. _If you don't think I'm right, what's your brilliant theory?_

Jean thought for a moment. _That you're controlling this, not me. That you freaked out last time because I revealed something you weren't comfortable with, and that today you just…decided to open this back up again for some reason. Maybe you were lonely, I don't know._

Betsy actually considered it for a moment, her face thoughtful. _It's not a horrible theory_ , she said. _But – here, look._ And she opened her mind to Jean, more than she ever had.

And with their enhanced connection, Jean saw that it was true. Betsy was just as confused as she was about their hiatus. And…she was just as lonely, maybe more so. Jean also caught a glimpse of the real Betsy again. She'd assumed the other woman had some sort of posh hideout, or that she could go back to whatever she was doing before. But she was in a simple, nondescript apartment somewhere, and Jean was struck by how utterly isolated it all felt.

She gently broke the deeper connection, returning to the astral plane. Then she looked Betsy straight in the eye and said, _I missed you too._

For once, there was no snort, no mocking comment. Just a moment where they both sat there, looking at each other quietly.

Then Jean got to her feet. She held a hand down to Betsy, who took it a little suspiciously, and helped her to her feet.

Jean didn't let go of her hand. Betsy didn't pull away.

Jean summoned all her bravery, leaned close and said in Betsy's ear, _See you tomorrow night?_

Then she pulled back with a little grin and a wink, and Jean swore she heard a gasp in response as she woke up.


	6. Chapter 6

The next day, Jean was still wearing her grin from last night. She toned it down a little around Scott (she didn't want to make him feel weird, and she knew it might), and around Professor Xavier (so as not to trip any mental alarm bells), but otherwise she went around with a spring in her step that hadn't been there in…well, since before she got her powers.

They fell into a new routine: classes all morning, then a lunch break, and then the older students had X-Men training for most of the afternoon. Classes were going fine – Jean focused on making sure she understood concepts and underlying principles, and that things got stored to her long-term memory, because when it came to recall she had access to every one of her teachers' thoughts. This made rote memorization completely useless, and meant that her teachers had to adapt their teaching and testing techniques.

Lunch was usually spent with Jubilee, Kurt, Scott, and whoever else happened to be around – everyone had their own smaller groups of friends, but the school was far from cliquish and it was always fun to hang out with new people, try out new combinations of powers. They ate by the destroyed tree on nice days, enjoying the sun.

Scott hadn't tried to kiss Jean again after that first time. He was a little sulky the first couple of days – Jean could feel how the rejection stung him and it made sense that he'd need some space. Their friends sensed that something was up, but they didn't pry, and after a week or two things were pretty much back to normal.

Well – post-almost-apocalyptic normal.

As much as Jean enjoyed the intellectual challenges each morning brought, and their languorous lunchtimes, she always looked forward to the afternoons. In the Danger Room, she felt more on an equal playing field with her classmates – sure, she could anticipate their every move when they were sparring, but Quicksilver and Nightcrawler (she noticed that she thought of them by their alter egos in the Danger Room) could move almost faster than thought, and Mystique had years of experience on her. So it didn't feel like she was the outcast among outcasts, plus she was getting in the best physical shape of her life.

But even the thrill of the Danger Room couldn't compete with what awaited Jean most nights.

It was "most nights" and not "all nights" because every so often, one of them would need to catch up on sleep or otherwise need a break. They had concluded that the astral plane came into existence through some combination of their efforts – it was Betsy's powers that created it, but it took Jean's receptiveness to create the connection, and they both thought Jean's raw strength was what helped sustain it, night after night.

After another incident where Jean got frustrated and dug too deep into Betsy's mind, Betsy sighed (it was a step up from slapping her in the face) and agreed to help Jean try to harness her powers. _Guess it's time for you to learn to control your damn Legilimency_ , she grumbled.

Jean was ecstatic. _But I thought – when did you –_

 _It's a good thing I can read your mind, as inarticulate as you are_ , Betsy said. She rolled her eyes and said, _Just look, if you must._

And Jean looked. She saw all the way back to their early encounter, when she made a crack about Occlumency right after violating Betsy's mind. She saw how the comment stuck in that calculating mind, how Betsy couldn't let go of it, wanted to understand it (and maybe Jean) a little better despite herself.

She saw how Betsy kept telling herself it was a ridiculous thing to obsess over. She told herself that all the way to the library –

 _Wait, you have a library card?_ said Jean, absolutely tickled at the idea of it. _Is it in your real name? Or do you go by, I don't know, Lyndon Johnson?_

 _Jesus, kid, focus!_ Betsy said. _How are you ever going to learn to control your powers when you can't even control your own attention span?_ She paused. Jean was still staring at her, trying to contain her grin.

 _You are the worst_ , said Betsy. _So annoyingly relentless. But if you must know…I snuck the books out of the library._ Jean actually gasped at that, but then she was back in Betsy's mind and saw the truth: she'd carefully returned each book after reading it, and she got the last three all at once because she couldn't wait.

 _And that's the insanely long story of why I know what the words "Occlumency" and "Legilimency" mean_ , Betsy concluded. _Not that it matters. I don't see why it matters,_ she hastened to add. _I just wanted to find out what your little crack meant, and it wasn't in the first book, or the second, and then I just got sucked in and had to read all of them._

She paused again. They sat in the void together, in their usual poses: Betsy with her knees bent and arms draped over them, Jean with her legs crossed in front of her, leaning back on her hands, sort of catty-corner to each other. Jean was looking at the ground, trying not to grin.

She felt Betsy's mild embarrassment and wondered aimlessly why she'd let Jean see all that.

 _You could have seen it all anyway, so who cares?_ said Betsy.

 _But I wouldn't have_ , Jean thought gently. _Not on purpose. You know that._

She looked up. Betsy was watching her, frowning a little. Finally, she shrugged one shoulder and said, _I guess I just wanted you to know something about me. The real me, not…the supervillain me._

 _Eh, you're not a supervillain. That whole thing could have gone either way_ , Jean said. When Betsy looked at her, confused, Jean said with a grin, _It's a good thing you can read my mind, as inarticulate as I am._ And this time she pulled Betsy into _her_ mind, and let her see the half-formed thoughts there.

It was something like this: _Whoever you were before all of this, after you became you but before you worked for En Sabah Nur, it must have really sucked or you would have stayed. So the first person who came along and offered you something more worthy of your talents, of course you'd go with him. It happened to be a super evil guy, but it could just as easily have been Professor Xavier. And then…who knows?_

Betsy pulled back and looked at Jean, a little stunned. _Was I close?_ Jean asked shyly. Betsy shrugged. _I don't know, kid,_ she said. _I might just be bad._

 _Maybe a little bad is okay,_ Jean said. _Maybe…it makes us able to cope with all this._ She held Betsy's gaze and said, _I turned into a flaming bird and exploded. I could have killed all of us – you, me, my friends, everyone. I wasn't in control of it at all._ She paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts, and then went on: _I can still feel it, at the edges. The darkness, you know?_

Betsy was still looking at her intently. _Kid…that's as much honesty as I can handle in one night, okay? This, all of this, this is why we need to teach you some control. But tomorrow._

Jean nodded and rose to her feet, quickly wiping at one eye with the back of her hand. As usual, she held out a hand and helped Betsy to her feet. _Such a gentleman_ , Betsy teased, and this time it was Jean who rolled her eyes.

 _Just one question, and we'll get out of here_ , Betsy said. Jean looked slightly down so she could meet her eyes, waiting.

 _Why the hell would I have been Lyndon B. Johnson?_

And just like that, Jean woke up.

Laughing.


	7. Chapter 7

The Danger Room was sweltering – like, dangerously hot. Jean was sweating, and their X-Men suits, as high tech as they were, weren't the most breathable.

"God, Storm, what is that – a volcano?" Quicksilver suddenly became visible, slowing down long enough for them to see him.

"It's a sirocco," Storm managed to gasp out as she steered it toward the robot that was attacking them. "A desert wind."

"Well, could you cool it down a little?" Cyclops said, in between shooting blasts from his visor. "We're dying in here."

" _Ja_ , every time I go _bamf_ I get a mouthful of sand," Nightcrawler added.

"Guys, focus, please." Hank's voice cut in over the loudspeaker. "I've been tweaking the programming on the robots to make them more adaptive."

"That means you need to work as a team," Raven added from the control room. Quicksilver mouthed "as a team" along with her, and the others tried to hide their grins at that. It was Raven's favorite phrase.

"All right, let's do this," Cyclops said, squaring his shoulders to face the robot, which was shaking off the effects of Storm's latest wind blast. "Nightcrawler, teleport up on its back and see if you can pull some cords loose. Quicksilver, you distract it. I'll provide covering fire. Storm – cool it down in here."

"Wait a second, who made you the leader?" Storm scoffed. "New plan – let's just have Jean explode and end this thing."

"Storm!" said Hank and Raven over the loudspeaker. At the same time, Cyclops shouted, "Storm, cool it DOWN!"

"Fine!" Storm yelled back. Suddenly, the temperature dropped precipitously. Their sweat froze on their skin as frost crept up the walls of the Danger Room.

The robot tried to shake one foot loose, then the other, but they were frozen to the ground. The cold climbed up the robot until even its head was frozen solid.

The others watched in disbelief as Storm walked over, jumped, and kicked the robot hard in the chest. It fractured into thousands of pieces, and Jean instinctively used her telekinetic abilities to stop the flying fragments before they could hit her teammates.

Hank and Raven came rushing in. Storm swept past them and out of the room, her head down.

"What. Was That?" Raven asked through gritted teeth. Hank tried to hold her back with a hand on her arm and a low "Raven…" but she shook him off and stalked over to where the four new X-Men stood, looking stunned and shaking ice crystals out of their hair.

"Hey, don't look at us, that was all Storm," Scott said, putting his hands up defensively.

"No," said Raven, putting a warning finger in his face. "That was on all of you. That's exactly what happens when you don't work as a team."

"Storm manages to defeat the bad guy singlehandedly?" Peter said laconically, goggles pushed up and arms crossed over his chest.

"No!" snapped Raven, turning to face him. "In here – maybe. Out there – you'd all be dead." She took a deep breath. Hank walked up and stood slightly behind her, quiet and solid, supporting her.

Raven spoke to all of them, more even-keeled now. "Look. I know how it feels, to have all this power and not be able to totally control it. Combine that with teenage hormones and you've got a recipe for…" she trailed off and indicated the fragments of the robot – "well, for this.

"But Charles believes in you. We all do. So basically, my point is, it's time to get your shit together and work as a team. The world needs the X-Men."

Jean scanned the room. Scott felt embarrassed, but held his chin up. Kurt was his same innocent self, full of the desire to make them all proud. Peter was a deeper thinker than his flippant exterior revealed, and he was pondering Raven's words harder than any of them.

She could feel Ororo, a burning ball of confusion and anger back in her room.

And then Jean felt a calm, wise presence just outside the door.

"Well said, Raven," said Charles with a small smile. Raven turned, startled. "Yeah – I didn't mean to curse at them, but –" she trailed off. Then she looked Charles in the eye and said, "I'll go talk to Ororo."

"I think that would be the best course of action," Charles said gently.

Raven left the room, and the remaining X-Men looked at Professor Xavier. "Oh, I'm not going to make a speech," he said. "Hank – they're all yours." Hank nodded.

As he left the room, Charles paused and said, "Jean – a word?"

She followed him out. Her nervousness had nothing to do with what had just transpired in the Danger Room. All she could think was, _This is it. This is the moment when he confronts me, and I lose it all. Lose…her._

They went into Professor Xavier's office. Jean shut the door and then sat as the professor went behind his desk. When he looked at her, his eyes were kind, and she took that as an encouraging sign.

"Jean," he began. He rested his elbows on the desk and interlaced his fingers, watching her carefully. Then he let out a little laugh. "I'm sorry – I confess, I don't quite know what to say. I suppose the point is that I'm concerned about you."

"Concerned?" Jean said, for lack of anything better.

Professor Xavier nodded. "I apologize for not speaking with you sooner. With all the efforts to get the school running again, and dealing with –"

"The almost-pocalypse?" Jean broke in.

The professor chuckled at that. "Yes, with all of that." He sighed. "Well, the point is, there's been a lot going on, but that's no excuse for not checking in with you more often."

Jean shrugged. "I'm okay, really. I think I'm coping fine, all things considered. Giant bird-shaped fiery things, you know."

"Of course, you're doing admirably," the professor said. "And I don't mean to pry – but I have been sensing a lot of nervousness, and it seems to be directed at me specifically. Is there anything I can do?"

Jean thought hastily. "I just…since the battle, I've felt this darkness at the edges of my consciousness, and I was worried that you would sense it and be afraid of me."

Charles's expression softened even more. "Jean…I would never fear you. You're amazingly powerful, yes, but you have a good heart and know the right thing when you see it." He paused. "This darkness, though – I'd like to help. Is there someone here you'd feel comfortable talking to?"

"I'm already talking to someone," Jean blurted out without thinking. Betsy's face flashed in her mind, and she hoped the professor didn't see it. "I mean…I can talk to my friends if I'm feeling down."

"Yes, quite," said the professor, pensively. Jean couldn't read his expression, or his mind. But then he smiled at her and said, "Thank you for the conversation. I am here for you, anytime."

Jean nodded and let herself out.

It had been an exhausting day both physically and mentally, and later, as Jean nestled under her covers and closed her eyes, sleep came almost instantly.

But despite her exhaustion, she refused to miss out on her time with Betsy – she was coming to crave it, for how it made her feel stronger, for how it gave her something that was just hers, and for other reasons she wasn't quite ready to articulate yet.

Jean found herself on the astral plane and felt Betsy behind her. She turned and grinned instinctively – she couldn't help herself. She plopped down next to Betsy (does it count as 'plopping' if you're on the astral plane and there's nothing to plop?), their shoulders touching.

 _Hi honey, how was your day?_ Betsy said dryly.

 _Oh, you know. Went to school, hung out with my friends, read a few minds, faced off against killer practice robots. The usual. You?_

Betsy started to stand, to get into position for their usual mental sparring practice, but Jean placed a hand over her arm, keeping her down. _Hey. Really. What did you do today?_

Betsy looked at her like she was crazy. _What does it matter?_

Jean turned to face Betsy's side, sitting cross-legged, realizing finally that she was still holding on to Betsy's arm. She crossed her hands in her lap instead. _I'm not, like, digging for intel. I just…think about you sometimes, during the day, and wonder what you're doing._ She blushed (dammit), and she saw Betsy's answering smirk.

 _What do you want to hear, Red?_ Jean actually gasped a little and clapped a hand to her mouth at that. _What?_ Betsy said, a little annoyed.

 _I think that's the first time you've called me anything other than "kid."_ Jean bit her lower lip and grinned at the older woman. _Red. I like it._

 _It's because you blush so damn much_ , Betsy grumbled. _Or because of your stupid hair. Take your pick._

 _Anyway…_ Jean prompted. _What do you do all day?_

 _I don't know_ , Betsy sighed. _I read a lot. World news, books, magazines, anything I can get my hands on. I get money for my living expenses – don't worry your pretty little head about how. I don't hurt anyone._

She paused, and then went on. Jean could feel how unsure she was and held her breath (or did she? She never knew in this weird place). _I think about…what to do with you. Here. How to help you control your powers._

Jean smiled and ducked her head a little at that. _Oh!_ she said. _I almost forgot – Professor Xavier finally talked to me today._

Betsy whipped around to face her, suddenly intense. _What did he say?_ she said, grabbing Jean's upper arm.

 _He…not much_ , Jean said. She would have squeaked it out if they'd been in the real world. _He didn't pry or anything. Just said that he can tell I'm nervous around him, asked what he could do to help, asked if I have anyone to talk to._

She put her hand on top of Betsy's, which was still clenched around Jean's arm. _He doesn't know anything. Really._

Betsy swallowed heavily and pulled her hand away. _He's our biggest threat._

 _He only has my best interests in mind_ , Jean said a little indignantly.

Betsy snorted. _Yeah, until they conflict with his. And what then? Where does that leave us?_ She looked intently into Jean's eyes and then scoffed when she heard the thought that flashed through Jean's mind. _Oh my god, are you really making a big deal that I used the word 'us'? It's a normal word. It's a simple first-person plural pronoun. Don't let it go to your head._ She turned back to the way she'd been facing before, laying her arms over her bent knees.

Jean was actually a little amused by that last rant. _I don't know…you gave me a new nickname, said I'm pretty, used the word 'us'…if I didn't know better, I'd think you were starting to warm up to me a little._

Betsy looked at her darkly. _I'm not even going to roll my eyes at that,_ she said. _Not even worth a response._ She sighed. _Now can we please get to it? I don't want to be here all night._

Jean hopped to her feet and reached down, as always, for Betsy's hand. One of those moments of courage hit her, and she kept a tight grip on Betsy's hand even after they were both upright. _You sure about that?_ she smirked. Now Betsy did roll her eyes, and pulled her hand away as always.

They faced off, about 10 feet apart. They could easily have done this sitting down, but it felt more authentic to stand, like they were dueling.

Their training followed a similar pattern each time. Jean would practice cloaking her mind, and Betsy would attempt to penetrate those defenses. They started out with innocuous thoughts, like Jean's lunches by the ruined tree, and worked their way up to memories that Jean truly wanted to keep secret.

After several weeks of doing this, Jean finally felt like they were making progress. She was about to say so, but she saw a defeated look in Betsy's eye and walked over to her. _What's up? I feel like we're getting better at this,_ she said.

 _Yeah, but are you sure that's a good thing?_ said Betsy.

 _I don't know what you mean_ , Jean said honestly.

 _It's like_ (Jean felt her grasp for a metaphor – one of the most fascinating things about being in someone's mind was when they were fumbling for something on the tip of their tongue), _it's like if the author of_ Twilight _were helping Shakespeare become LESS talented_ , Betsy grumbled.

Jean thought about that, smiling. _Hmm…I'll forgive you for going with Shakespeare, that's sort of cliché, but I'll definitely associate you with sparkling vampires forever now, so thanks for that_. Betsy shot her a look, but there was a smile not very well hidden behind it.

 _I see what you're saying, though,_ Jean said more seriously. _You don't have to worry that you're, like, neutering me or something. This is just about playing better defense._ Betsy nodded, but Jean could feel that she wasn't convinced.

Then Jean grinned again. _So,_ Twilight, _huh?_ _Did you just, like, wander into the supernatural teen section at the library? I mean, clearly you'd be interested in supernatural teens…I mean, not_ interested _interested…I mean…_ She trailed off and looked at her feet.

Betsy actually laughed watching that. Then she got serious and put two fingers under Jean's chin, tilting her face so they could make eye contact. _Not_ all _supernatural teens_ , she said.

Jean's breath caught in her throat and her eyes flicked subconsciously to Betsy's lips. They stood there, frozen, for a long moment. Betsy's fingertips trailed lightly from Jean's chin down her jaw and just barely grazed her neck before she pulled them back, took a step away from Jean, and cleared her throat.

 _All right, that's enough for tonight…Red_ , she said.

Jean shook her head to clear it. Then she grinned. _Whatever you say…Freckles._

She was still giggling about Betsy's resulting eye roll when she woke up the next morning.


	8. Chapter 8

_When did you first learn you had powers?_

 _What does it matter? (sigh) Fine. When I was a little younger than you are now. First I could see glimpses of the future, then I could read minds, then all the astral plane stuff and the psionic weapons. Happy now? Can we get back to it?_

 _You can see the future? OMG, how does_ The Walking Dead _end?_

 _KID!_

 _Why didn't you use your powers during the big battle?_

 _What the hell do you think that pink sword was?_

 _Yeah, but…you can do so much more than that. Was it because you were holding back?_

 _No, I was pretty committed to ending the world. Oh, don't look so shocked. Supervillain, remember? Anyway…En Sabah Nur didn't really see my full potential. He definitely had big plans for Magneto, and he gave Angel those metal wings, but he mostly just used me and Storm as muscle._

 _More like eye candy. Ow! You're supposed to be throwing thoughts at me, not…astral rocks!_

 _You need a name._

 _And here I was just starting to think you had potential. My…name…is…Betsy…Braddock._

 _Ugh, you're the worst sometimes! I mean, a mutant name._

 _You don't think "Freckles" is intimidating enough? Now, stop giggling and let's get back to work._

 _No, I'm serious! When I'm in the Danger Room, I think of all my teammates by their X-Men names. Let's give you an X-Men name._

 _I'm…not one of the X-Men. Now drop it. Please._

 _I've got it!_

 _I highly doubt that. But what are you talking about?_

 _Your new name! No, don't get all huffy. Hear me out. What about…Madame Mysteria?_

 _NO._

 _Mastermind?_

 _That's a board game._

 _Mental something…Mentalla?_

 _Pass._

 _Telepathia? Ow! Hey! Okay, one last try…something with "psychic" in it? Psywoman, Psych-Out…_

 _These are terrible. Let's get back to something you're actually not a complete failure at, shall we? I'm this close to just locking you out of the astral plane for the next few weeks –_

 _PSYLOCKE!_

 _Oh. My. God. Will you just shut up about the stupid name? Hey, wait – who are you to talk, anyway? Your super special mutant name is "Jean Grey."_

 _Oh. Yeah. Good point._

 _Now, can we get back to –_

 _Psylocke._

 _Aargh!_

 _Why are you helping me?_

 _What else would we do here? Braid each other's hair and talk about boys? Stop giggling, I can see you picturing it._

 _Seriously though._

 _Maybe I'm just gathering intel on the enemy._

 _You're not my enemy._

 _You sure about that, Red?_

 _…Yes._

 _Stop looking at me like that._

 _Like what?_

 _Like you…see me._

 _You want me to look at you like you're the big bad villain? Sorry, Freckles, I think we're way past that now._

 _…Yeah. I guess we are._

 _I'm helping you because I want you to turn out better than I did._

They walked toward each other across the astral plane. Betsy's stride was confident as always, her shoulders thrown back and her hips swaying. Jean swallowed hard as she watched her, trying to focus on not tripping and face-planting.

It seemed like an eternity before they were at last face to face. They both paused at the same moment, less than a foot of space separating them.

Jean still wasn't used to the height difference. Betsy was so imposing that Jean always forgot she was a few inches taller than the older woman.

She tentatively reached out a hand and skimmed the backs of her fingers along Betsy's cheek, expecting her to pull away – but instead, Betsy leaned into the touch and closed her eyes for a second.

When she opened them again, they were…blazing. Actually blazing – Jean could see a bit of pink fire behind the dark irises. Betsy took Jean's hand in her own, the one that was stroking her face, and gently brought it to her mouth. She brushed her lips over the backs of Jean's knuckles, and even that slight contact was enough to make Jean gasp.

Then she blushed, and that brought a tiny smile to Betsy's lips. She lowered their hands and then took Jean's other hand in her free one, intertwining their fingers. They stood face to face, hands laced at their sides, just looking at each other.

Betsy inched a little closer, and Jean swore she could feel the warmth radiating off of her. She looked up at Jean coyly through dark lashes, the unspoken message that the next move was Jean's.

So Jean let go of their clasped hands. She put her palms gently on Betsy's hips, just resting them there. She felt Betsy's hands move to her hips as well.

And then she looked at Betsy's full lips, unconsciously darting her tongue out to moisten her own lips. Jean leaned forward, more slowly than she'd ever moved in her life. She heard Betsy's breath hitch in anticipation as their faces came infinitesimally closer.

Jean wasn't sure how long she'd been longing for this moment, aching for it. Maybe since the first time she felt that cold brush of Betsy's mind, saw someone looking back at her, got her first look at this powerful and broken woman. But she knew that she wanted this now, more than anything.

Her nose brushed Betsy's, gently, and then at last their lips met.

It was softer than Jean had ever imagined. Betsy's lips felt warm against hers, and so unbelievably smooth. Jean skimmed her mouth lightly over Betsy's, just pressing their lips together for now. She felt Betsy's hands tighten reflexively on her hips and understood the need to ground herself, to tether her hands to something solid when it felt like she was about to float away.

She lightly took Betsy's top lip between her own and nibbled on it with her lips. Then she slid her mouth slightly downward and did the same with Betsy's plump bottom lip. This time, she sucked on it slightly, and she smiled into Betsy's little gasp.

Jean pulled back a little so she could take in the sight before her – Betsy's half-lidded eyes, her mouth that was begging to be kissed harder, the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She raised a hand to push a stray lock of hair behind Betsy's ear and smiled at her.

Betsy looked back at her, not quite smiling, breathing a little heavily, her nostrils flared, and when Jean sensed her desire it inflamed her own. She kept her thumb alongside Betsy's face and slid her fingers around to the back of her head.

Then she bent to kiss Betsy again, and this time nothing about it was gentle. Jean's fingers tangled in Betsy's hair, and she used her grip on the back of Betsy's head to pull their mouths ever tighter together. Betsy moaned and parted her lips just a tiny bit, and Jean instinctively licked into that small space with her tongue.

Betsy's hands slid up the center of Jean's back, grasping at her shoulder blades, pulling their upper torsos together. The second Jean felt their breasts brush together, she gasped at the sweet shock of it. This was the first pair of breasts she'd ever really noticed on a woman, and now they were pressed against her own in a tight embrace, full and soft and amazing.

Betsy tilted her head to the side, and Jean's tongue naturally slipped further into her mouth. She loved the wet warmth of it, the slippery feel of it, the way she could feel Betsy growing more passionate as their tongues met.

Now the hand that was on Betsy's hip slid downward, just grazing over the curve of her pants. Betsy moaned again and threw her head back, and Jean instinctively moved her hand lower and cupped Betsy's ass while she dropped her lips to press wet kisses to her neck. She pulled hard against her, and when their lower halves connected it was like an electric jolt, shocking them both into pulling back to look at each other, breathless and a little confused and completely turned on.

Then Jean's alarm went off. And she shot straight up in bed, still just as breathless and confused and turned on.

"Oh…crap."


	9. Chapter 9

Jean got dressed that morning in a daze, a weird mix of elation and nervousness and confusion. She was late for her first class because she got halfway there and realized that she was wearing two different shoes (she wouldn't even have noticed, but she passed Kitty Pryde in the hallway and read it in _her_ mind).

She told herself that it was nothing.

She knew it was a lie.

Her focus was off in class: she sat there, aimlessly staring out the window, not participating, and this time it was only Kurt's thoughts of concern that snapped her out of it.

Jean ate lunch alone in her room, picking at it absently and throwing most of it away. She couldn't be around her friends right now.

Things were even worse in the Danger Room that afternoon. Since the incident with Storm, Hank and Raven had decided that Jean should practice her telekinetic shielding abilities, which meant robots lobbing a bunch of stuff at her teammates and Jean deflecting it.

Only today, her focus kept slipping, and after Storm took a hit to the shoulder and Cyclops barely managed to blast a pipe before it would have hit him in the head, Hank paused the program and Raven said over the intercom, "Jean – take a break."

She was fine with it, really. Jean told herself that she could handle this crushing sense of guilt at letting her fellow X-Men down.

But she felt Kurt's concern, Scott's confusion, Peter's curiosity, and Ororo's slight smugness.

And once again, she knew she was lying to herself.

The worst part was, Jean mused as she headed back to her room, all of her various self-delusions today paled in comparison to The Big Lie, the one she would have to confront tonight.

If last night's…dream? or whatever it was had taught her anything, it was that she could no longer deny her feelings for her nighttime sparring partner. And that meant she probably couldn't hide them from Betsy herself. And that meant Betsy would probably freak right out and never want to see her again.

Jean didn't even know if it had been a dream, if they'd really been on the astral plane, if Betsy would know about it before they met tonight. She sure as hell didn't know if Betsy felt their connection as strongly as Jean did, or more likely if she would ever admit it.

She put in her headphones and spent a couple of hours trying to concentrate enough to get some homework done. It wasn't her best effort, but it should hold her teachers off until she could snap out of whatever funk this was.

When nighttime finally came, sleep didn't. Jean lay there, staring at the ceiling, at the wallpaper that somehow still had burn marks from the night she envisioned the end of the world. It was well after midnight when exhaustion finally won out.

Usually, the first thing Jean did when she found herself on the astral plane was to turn around and look for Betsy. But tonight, she just sat down right where she was. She stretched her legs out in front of her and leaned back on her hands, staring out at the void.

Betsy walked around in front of her and stood, arms crossed, looking down at her. Jean didn't say anything. She focused on keeping her mental shields up as much as she could.

Betsy nudged Jean's foot with one of her own. _Nice shields tonight, Red. Does that mean we don't have to talk about it?_

Jean shrugged noncommittally. Betsy looked down at her for a long moment as Jean continued staring off into the distance. Then she sighed and sat down next to her, keeping a little distance between them, mimicking Jean's pose.

 _You know, it's weirding me out how quiet your mind is tonight,_ Betsy said. _Usually it's like one of those cable news shows, with crazy stuff scrolling along the bottom and big lists on the side and a non-stop stream of chatter._ She showed Jean a picture of it in her own mind.

Jean still didn't respond.

Betsy watched her for another long moment. Then she sat up and gently put a hand on Jean's arm that was closest to her. _Hey. Kid. This is so not a big deal. So you had one dream about me, and we kissed a little. So what? It's…I don't know, your subconscious or something. Doesn't mean anything._

Jean finally turned her head to look at her. Betsy was closer than she'd realized, and Jean had to consciously keep her breath from hitching. She dragged her eyes up to meet Betsy's, and Betsy had never seen her look so…haunted. Usually the kid was like a puppy, all boundless energy and enthusiasm with a big helping of sass.

 _So it was a dream then?_ Jean said. _Not like an astral plane thing?_

Betsy felt weird moving her hand from Jean's arm, so she just left it there awkwardly. _I mean…yeah, as far as I could tell. Felt different when I woke up, you know? More like a regular dream._

 _Only it wasn't a regular dream,_ Jean said. _Because usually people aren't…_ there _in my dreams._

Betsy thought for a moment. _Who knows whose dream it was? Could have been mine_. Jean looked at her more intently now, and Betsy was frankly terrified at the hope she saw in Jean's eyes. _Hey, calm down, kid. Even if it was my dream, doesn't mean I want us to go picking out a Subaru together._

Jean shrugged Betsy's hand off at that and stood suddenly, brushing off her pants angrily even though there wasn't any dust on the astral plane, turning her back to Betsy and crossing her arms. _God, that's so typical. Shit gets real and you can't handle it, have to make a joke out of it._

 _Ha!_ Betsy said. _You think one little kiss-dream means shit's getting real? You don't know anything._

Now she stood too, partly because she was getting angry and partly so she could avoid looking at how well Jean's pajama pants fit her, which was far too tempting from that angle.

 _I heard that, you know._ Jean was rigid, her back still to Betsy. _I'm not the one who doesn't know what's happening here. Or at least I'm the one who's willing to admit it._

 _You know what's happening here?_ Betsy was practically seething now. _NOTHING. We are, literally and figuratively, nowhere._ She paused. _And you know what? I'm done. You're on your own, kid._

Jean whirled around to face her, dropping her arms to her sides, fists clenched. _Oh, that's right, run away just like you did the last time something came up that actually involved "feelings." Because the big bad supervillain is actually just a_ coward _._

That last word made Betsy's cheeks flush in anger, red spots appearing high on her cheekbones. _You want to see a supervillain? I'll show you a supervillain_. And she raised her hand to slap Jean in the face, beyond rational thought now.

But this time, Jean was ready for her. She saw the slap coming before Betsy even registered it herself, and as Betsy's hand tore through the air, Jean reflexively grabbed her wrist before she could make contact. In the same motion, without even thinking about it, she used Betsy's momentum to yank her closer, so their bodies were pressed together and their faces were inches apart.

Betsy was too stunned to push her away. They stood there, breathing heavily, eyes locked, feeling the shared tension.

Jean said hoarsely, _I can't go another three weeks without seeing you. Don't run away again._ She paused, collecting her thoughts, and then added, more gently, _It's not about the training for me anymore. You know that._

Betsy swallowed hard, her nostrils flaring as she attempted to get herself under control. She didn't respond, couldn't.

Then Jean shocked her yet again by taking the wrist she still held and bringing it behind her head, so that Betsy's hand was on the back of her neck, tangled in that curtain of red.

She let go, and Betsy's hand stayed.

She moved her own hand to Betsy's hip, and Betsy didn't push her away.

She angled her head down slowly so that their foreheads touched, and Betsy didn't pull back.

Jean said, in that same voice that sounded so strangled in Betsy's head, _I need to see you._ She turned slightly and pressed her lips gently to Betsy's cheek. _Not here_. She bent lower and skimmed those soft lips over the tender skin right below Betsy's ear, at the edge of her jawbone, and Betsy knew she would have moaned aloud if they were anywhere but the astral plane.

Jean straightened up and looked into Betsy's eyes again, read the desire there, felt it coming off her in waves. She slowly bent and ghosted her lips over Betsy's, lighter than a breath. _Come to me._

 _I…I have to think about it,_ Betsy stammered. How had this…teenager taken the upper hand with her?

She saw Jean smirk a little at that. _My pajama pants probably helped_ was the last thing Betsy heard as she woke up, alone, throbbing with desire, kicking herself for her weakness…but also starting to grudgingly accept it.

The next night, when Jean appeared, Betsy was right in front of her, and as they melted into each other's arms, all Jean felt around her was the power of Betsy's _Yes._


	10. Chapter 10

The next day was…the…longest of Jean's life.

(And that included the time she saved the world.)

She woke up feeling giddy, and nervous, and also that most elusive of states for her: she felt like a normal teenage girl.

 _I have a date!_ was her first thought in the morning.

 _Ahhhhh I get to see her in real life!_ was her second.

And those two blissful thoughts were followed by half an hour of panic when Jean realized she had no idea what to wear on a sort-of date with a kind-of-maybe supervillain. She sat on her bed and used her telekinesis to empty every drawer, every back corner of her closet, and paraded each item of clothing past her one by one. Nothing looked right. She flung the clothes to the ground and quickly threw on jeans and a top so she wouldn't be late for class.

Class. How was she supposed to focus on the physics of light energy, or mutant/human history, when all she could think about was _her_? It was one of those times when Jean was glad no one could read _her_ mind. Some of the other students had limited psionic abilities and were probably picking up a weird buzz off of her, but they hadn't discovered any other true telepaths yet.

With one notable exception, of course. Jean reminded herself to be especially vigilant around Professor Xavier that day.

Even her non-telepathic friends could sense that something was up. "Who's the lucky guy?" whispered Jubilee during a rare moment when Scott and Kurt weren't in earshot. "W-what?" stammered Jean, the question taking her by surprise.

Jubilee gasped. "OMG, did you and Scott finally hook up? Yes! I knew it! Kurt's buying my coffee for the next _month_!" She started to run off to gloat to Kurt, and Jean caught her by the arm. "Wait – Jubilee, there's nothing going on with me and Scott."

Jubilee turned, about to continue teasing her. But when she saw the look on Jean's face, Jean felt her understanding dawn. "You're telling the truth, aren't you? But then – what's going on with you?"

"It's nothing," Jean said. "I'm just…distracted. Haven't been sleeping well."

It wasn't enough to fully convince Jubilee, but it was enough to get her to drop the subject. For now.

Jean took her lunch up to her room again, worried about revealing anything to her friends. She used her abilities to absently fold clothes in the air and whisk them back into drawers as she ate her lunch at her desk.

It was almost time for X-Men training, so she changed into her uniform – and then smiled to herself as she realized what she was going to wear tonight.

Training went better than classes had – Jean's focus wasn't entirely there, but she compensated by depending on the others' thoughts during their simulated battles more than she normally would have. Raven looked at her strangely and wondered what was up, but she didn't say anything, and Hank didn't even notice anything out of the ordinary.

Jean wasn't all that surprised when she felt Professor Xavier outside the door. This time, he didn't open the door, just said _Jean, a word?_ inside her head. _Be right out_ , she replied.

She murmured an explanation to Raven and Hank and went out to join the professor. He looked serious, and he was concealing his thoughts from her.

"I think my office would be best for this, don't you?" he said.

 _I mean, we could have an entire conversation right here and no one would know_ , thought Jean.

"Ha! Good point," said the professor. But he headed down the hall toward his office anyway, Jean trailing behind him.

Like before, Jean shut the door and sat while the professor went behind his desk. He looked at her for a long moment, and something in his eyes softened. "Jean, I'm going to come right out and say it. I know what you've been up to for the past couple of months. Who you've been meeting."

Jean's mouth actually dropped open in surprise. She closed it hastily and managed to stutter, "But – but – how? Wait, I mean obviously I know how. I mean…when? And why? And why didn't you say anything sooner? And –"

Professor Xavier cut her off by raising a hand. "I think that's as many questions as I can handle for the moment," he said gently. He sighed. "And I owe you an apology. It was never my intention to intrude into your mind, but your thoughts and feelings have been so – powerful – that I couldn't stop them from pouring into my mind." The professor leaned forward slightly, looking at Jean earnestly. "And I also apologize for not being honest with you the last time you were in my office. I didn't wish to intervene, and I still trust you. But I need you to know where I stand."

Jean nodded tensely, waiting.

The professor continued, "I understand how powerful feelings like this can be. And that for us, there are always…complicating factors as well." Jean saw his mind flash to Moira McTaggart for a moment before his shields were firmly in place again and he went on. "I can see exactly how strongly you feel about…her. And it's because of those feelings that I felt this conversation was finally necessary."

 _Am I really about to have "the talk" with Charles Xavier?_ Jean thought desperately. He couldn't hide his smile at that, and she giggled nervously.

The professor said, "No, god no. Can we please never, ever discuss details? All I ask is that…you be careful."

Jean looked at him, stunned. "Ah, you thought I was going to forbid it?" he said. "Please. I was a teenager once. I know exactly how well that works." He reached for Jean's hand, and she slid one across the desk.

Charles took her hand in both of his and said, "All I will say is, be careful. Please. For your sake and for the safety of this school. And not just for your life…but be careful for your heart, Jean. You have a good one. I would not like to see it broken, and I will do everything in my power to protect you."

Jean's eyes were wet, and she rubbed at them with the back of her free hand. She couldn't meet the professor's eyes, but then he quietly said, "Jean," and she looked up.

She saw no judgment, no anger. Just understanding, a bit of caution, and the sort of fatherly love he could already convey at such a young age. She managed a weak smile and stood to leave.

As she opened the door, he said quietly, "Let me know when you want to bring her home to meet the family."

And he felt her smile as she closed the door carefully behind her.


	11. Chapter 11

Jean's palms were slick against the steering wheel as she navigated the road a little after midnight.

She'd "borrowed" the same car that the four teens had taken on their joyride, what seemed like years ago but was what, a couple of months? The top was down, and Jean was glad her hair was in a long ponytail so she wouldn't look too ruffled by the drive.

She drove for about an hour, never seeing another car. Their meeting location was far enough away and secluded enough that they shouldn't run into anyone, but close enough that Jean could make it there and back in the middle of the night.

Jean smiled, remembering how casually Betsy had suggested the location. _Wait…that's only an hour from the school. How do you know where it is? Did you get that from my mind?_ Jean had asked.

Betsy just smirked and said, _Calm down, Red. I found it on Google Maps._

Sure enough, when Jean had checked the next day the school was on Google Maps. So much for being a super-secret mutant school. 

Jean turned off onto a side road that led to a small park enclosed by trees. She pulled into a parking space and sat there, letting the engine idle. She could feel Betsy's presence but didn't see her anywhere. The park was lit by a solitary streetlamp, and the dim light it cast didn't reach the circle of trees.

 _Where are you?_

She heard Betsy's reply in her mind: _Look harder._

And then Betsy suddenly appeared in the headlights, fading out of the darkness, startling Jean so that she jumped even though she knew to expect her, had felt the mischief bubbling up inside her.

Betsy laughed out loud – the first time Jean had ever heard her laugh. It was a little gravelly and a lot sexy and – _Dammit!_ Jean thought. Betsy chuckled again. "Shields up, kid," she said out loud. She took a couple of steps closer. "Get out of the car so I can see you."

Jean gulped, fully aware that Betsy could _feel_ how that little command made her temperature rise and her breath quicken. This time, she let it slide without comment, but Jean saw her smirk. She cut the engine, and now there was only the light of that one streetlamp.

Jean opened her door and got out, a little nervously. She shut the door gently and stood beside it, not sure what to do with her arms. Betsy just stood there in front of the car, and they looked at each other for a long moment, trying desperately not to pry too much into the other's thoughts. "You look taller," Betsy said finally. The redhead shrugged. "Guess the astral plane was trying to level the playing field." Betsy snorted at that.

 _Come here_ , Jean thought. She saw the other woman's nostrils flare slightly at that, both at the intimacy of hearing someone's voice inside her mind and at the implication.

"You trying to get me to make out with you in the car or something?"

 _Maybe_ , Jean thought with a smirk of her own. Then she said out loud, "I am a fucking teenager, after all."

She saw Betsy try to place the reference and felt her amusement when she realized Jean was echoing her own words back to her from one of their first meetings.

"Oh, fine," sighed Betsy, and she slowly walked over to where Jean stood beside the car. Jean had to bite her lip, she was so tingly with anticipation.

 _Tingly? Really?_

 _Ugh,_ Psylocke _, stop doing that!_

"Well, stop wearing your hormones on your sleeve then."

Betsy was right in front of her now. They stood face to face, a step apart. "Nice outfit," Betsy smirked.

"Um – it's my new X-Men suit," Jean said, a little shyly. "I figured," said Betsy.

"You're wearing your suit too."

"Yes, that's also true," Betsy smiled.

Jean shook her head and laughed a little to herself, looking down. "I'm sorry, I – I don't know what to say."

"Well, we've covered our outfits pretty thoroughly," Betsy said. "Speaking of which, your outfit covers _you_ very thoroughly." Jean looked back up, confused. Now Betsy was the one who was embarrassed, which surprised Jean a little.

The older woman took a deep breath and collected her thoughts (Jean could almost feel them slipping into orderly rows). "Okay. Real talk," she said. "I…have been thinking for a long time about what it would be like to…to touch you. In real life."

At those words, Jean's heart stuttered and she felt the throbbing attraction that had consumed her thoughts recently.

Betsy continued, "And standing here in front of you, I feel this annoyingly out of control need to be close to you. I shouldn't – but I don't care about "shouldn't" with you – but also, I just _can't_ because your stupid suit covers 95% of your skin."

"Well," said Jean, taking half a step closer, "it's a good thing your suit only covers 40% of yours then. And–" they were so close now that she swore she could feel Betsy's breath on her neck, the heat of her thighs – "some parts of mine are very easy to take off."

Jean raised her hand in front of her chest and slowly unzipped her glove, then pulled it off and tossed it in the car. She saw Betsy's eyes darken and repeated the motion with her other glove.

 _Your turn_ , she hummed.

Betsy cocked her head to one side. _I'm impressed, kid, but you knew that already._ Jean quirked an eyebrow at her, and finally Betsy pulled at the fingertips of first one long glove, then the other until both slid free. She tossed them in the back seat with Jean's gloves.

Jean held out her hands in front of her, palms up. She looked the other woman in the eye. "You can touch me now," she said, almost in a whisper.

Betsy swallowed heavily and reached out with her own hands. She hovered them just above Jean's, then ever so lightly stroked her fingers against Jean's palms and up to the tips of her fingers, then laced their fingers together.

They both shivered at the sensation, looking into each other's eyes, each knowing the other felt it too. This connection between them had been building for weeks, months even without any true physical contact, and the anticipation had been overwhelming.

Betsy brought their joined hands to her lips and kissed over Jean's knuckles. "You smell good," she whispered. Then she laughed lightly as Jean's mind raced – was it her lotion Betsy was smelling? Was it weird that she had a moisturizing regimen at the tender age of 17? "I think it's just your smell," Betsy said, moving their hands so that the back of Jean's hand was against Betsy's cheek.

She let go of Jean's hands, and Jean kept that one pressed to Betsy's cheek, stroking it gently with her fingertips now, while Betsy moved her hands down to Jean's waist. She leaned in closer and stood on her tiptoes, and for a second Jean thought she was about to kiss her until she felt Betsy nuzzle at her throat. "Yep…it's definitely just how you smell," Betsy murmured against her. Jean let out a tiny gasp at that and blurted out, "Let's get in the car."

Betsy pulled back and looked at her, trying to get a read on where this was going. "I mean – there's something I want to do in the car," Jean tried to explain.

"Well, how could I pass up such a tempting offer?" Betsy said, nuzzling against Jean's throat one last time before releasing her and sauntering around to the passenger's side.

They climbed in and shut the doors. Jean faced ahead for a minute, her hands on the steering wheel, her heart racing. Then she turned to Betsy. "Lean your seat back," she said.

And Betsy did.

Next chapter: What does Jean have in mind? It might not be what you think…


	12. Chapter 12

The park was quiet except for the sound of their breathing and the occasional _hiss_ as the car's engine cooled down.

But Jean's mind, her heartbeat, those were deafening.

She slowly reclined her seat so that it matched the angle of Betsy's, looking straight ahead the whole time, trying to calm her breathing.

"So…what did you want to do now that you've got me in your car?" Betsy said beside her, in that low and seductive voice Jean couldn't get enough of now that she'd heard it in real life.

 _Look up_. Jean sent the thought her way, and she heard Betsy's intake of breath as for the first time, she saw the stars.

"I was driving out here, thinking about seeing you, and the further I got from the city lights the more beautiful the stars were, and I thought we could put the convertible to good use," Jean rambled, a little nervously. She giggled when she caught Betsy's reflexive thought about putting the convertible to even better use.

KSSH! The sound of glass breaking had Jean sitting up in a panic, whirling around as she scanned the area for another consciousness, the source of the threat.

 _Relax, kid, that was me_. Betsy reached over and took Jean's hand, twining them together on the console. Jean looked at her, confused, her heart still racing. Betsy nodded toward the streetlamp. "I thought it would help us see the stars better," she said. "Sorry I scared you – I would have used my deluminator, but this outfit doesn't have any pockets, so."

Jean smiled at the _Harry Potter_ reference. "Come on, lie back down," Betsy urged her gently.

"No one's ever broken a streetlamp with the power of their mind for me on a first date," Jean said as she relaxed back into her chair.

"That would be an oddly specific first date quirk," Betsy said.

They were quiet for a minute, enjoying the starlight and the feel of their fingers intertwined. "You were right," said Jean. "It's way better without the streetlight." She turned her head to look at Betsy. "And I can still see you just fine."

Betsy kept looking up at the stars, so Jean took the opportunity to study her. They just lay there, Betsy watching the stars and Jean watching her, until finally Betsy said "You wanna take a picture?"

Jean blushed a little. "I…you look different in real life. Almost the same, but somehow… _more_."

"Well, we've already established that you're even more of a giant in real life." Jean rolled her eyes at that. _Try harder_ , she thought.

Betsy sighed and turned her head so they were both lying back in their seats, looking at one another. She stroked her thumb lightly over the back of Jean's hand in light circles.

 _I've never seen you with your hair in a ponytail_ , Betsy began. _It looks good on you. But – I want to see you with it down sometime, because it's a richer color out here than it was on the astral plane. I can tell, even by starlight._

"What else?" Jean whispered. She could feel her heartbeat picking back up again, along with that incessant throb of desire that Betsy always ignited in her. She knew her shields were down, and that Betsy could feel everything she was feeling, and she didn't care.

Betsy swallowed hard, working up the courage to speak out loud. "Your skin is warmer here, softer, more real. Your smell…god, I couldn't even have imagined it. You smell amazing." Then she flashed her usual wicked grin and said, "I can't stop wondering how you'd taste."

Jean bit back a groan at that, and Betsy said, "You know I can hear everything you think, feel everything you feel. You don't have to hold back for me."

"Shut up and come over here," Jean growled.

Betsy's eyes widened in surprise, then darkened with desire, and in an instant she was on top of Jean. She straddled her in the leaned-back chair and propped her hands on either side of Jean's shoulders.

 _I'm going to kiss you now_.

 _I know._

And Betsy leaned closer, tantalizingly slowly, driving both of them mad with want until Jean surged up and met her halfway.

When their lips met for the first time, Jean actually felt faint. Betsy's lips were incredibly soft, softer than they'd ever felt on the astral plane. She was right – everything was softer, warmer here.

Jean eased herself back down, Betsy followed, and they stayed just like that for a few minutes, exploring, savoring, caressing with just their lips. Betsy took Jean's lower lip in her mouth and gently sucked on it. She murmured against Jean's mouth, "You taste even better than you smell," and that raspy voice combined with what she was doing with her mouth drove Jean crazy. She wanted more, so much more. Her hands were resting on Betsy's hips, and she skimmed her palms lower, feeling the warmth of Betsy's naked thighs, while at the same time trying to deepen the kiss.

Betsy was still propped up on her arms, but when she felt the hot lick of Jean's tongue against her mouth, she moaned and pressed her body downward.

And that's when they discovered that as hot as they both looked in their bodysuits, there was one drawback: when the suits rubbed together, it sounded _horrible_.

They both burst out laughing and their mouths broke apart. Betsy buried her face in Jean's neck, shaking with laughter. "Okay," she gasped, getting control of herself, "Our suits are a problem, and I can think of two possible solutions here. One of them, I think you might not be ready for–" and she gave Jean a quick glimpse of what she was thinking, and holy hell if that was what was in store then sign Jean Grey right up – "and the other is that I hop back to my own chair, we talk until you need to leave, and next time we dress more appropriately." She pressed one last kiss to Jean's lips and then nimbly got back into her own chair.

Jean's body went cold at the loss. She turned on her side to face her, and Betsy did the same. They reached for each other's hand at the same moment.

"Tell me about yourself," Jean murmured.

And Betsy did. She told Jean about her brother, about the feelings she went through as her powers developed, about the stagnation that motivated her to go with En Sabah Nur, about the self-doubt she felt about having chosen the wrong side.

Then Jean told her about her fear that no one trusts a psychic, her even bigger fear that she couldn't trust herself not to influence others, that she couldn't get close to anyone, that the darkness at the edges would one day collapse in on itself and then she didn't know what she would become.

They talked and talked until the sky grew incrementally lighter and they both knew it was time to part.

Jean sighed and put her chair back upright. Betsy did the same, and then she got out and came around to Jean's side. Jean climbed out too. She ran her fingers through Betsy's hair, and Betsy leaned into her touch.

"Do you have far to drive?" Jean said quietly. Betsy shook her head. "I have a place not too far from here. My bike is parked in the trees back there, it's only like a 15-minute ride."

"Wait – your bike? You ride a motorcycle?" the redhead exclaimed. "Jesus, just when I thought you couldn't get any hotter."

Betsy actually blushed at that, and Jean leaned down to kiss her on the nose. "Your freckles are really cute," she whispered, not pulling her face away. Betsy stood on her tiptoes and pulled Jean's face down into one last searing kiss. _Don't call me cute_ , she warned, and she felt Jean's answering smile.

"Okay, I should really get back," Jean sighed. She held on to Betsy's hand for another moment, and then let it go.

And as she drove away, she heard Betsy in her mind. _Same time tomorrow, Red?_

 _Yes. God, yes. And don't forget to wear something more comfortable._ She heard Betsy's answering chuckle and smiled as she turned onto the road toward school.


	13. Chapter 13

Jean groaned as her alarm went off, and in her stupor she accidentally sent it flying across the room where it shattered. "Damn, fifth alarm clock this month," she muttered. She should talk to Hank, see if he could make her something more durable.

She rolled over onto her back and allowed herself a minute to bask in the afterglow of last night. For a relationship that began as violently as theirs did, they'd come so far. And god, Betsy was amazing. Tonight couldn't come fast enough.

Jean leaned over to look at the nightstand and check the time, then remembered she'd shattered her clock again and fell back with a grunt. She looked at her phone instead. If she was quick showering and changing, there should be enough time to swing by Professor Xavier's office and have a quick chat before her first class.

Thirty minutes later, Jean raised a hand tentatively to knock on the professor's door, but heard _Come in, Jean_ before she could even knock.

"Telepaths," she said with a mock eye roll as she opened the door.

Charles smiled at her. "Late night?" he said, his tone gently teasing. Jean flushed, then composed herself. "Yes. A very late night. But so, so worth it."

"I'm very glad to hear it," the professor said. "So, what brings you to my office this early?"

"Well," said Jean as she closed the door, "so I have this super awesome girl in my life, and I want her to come here. And I think there's probably nothing on this earth that she's less likely to do."

"Okay," said the professor. "Let's talk."

Later that night, as Jean made her way down the winding road once more, she thought back on their conversation. She'd spent most of the day coming up with a sort-of plan. She wasn't sure anything would actually convince Betsy to come back to the school with her, but it was worth a try.

 _Betsy_ was worth a try.

Jean tried something that she'd only recently been able to do: she took the conversation with Professor Xavier, the whole _idea_ of Betsy coming to the school, and locked it away. She visualized an actual lockbox, made up a complicated password to open it, and buried it deep within her mind where she knew no one could come without an invitation.

She didn't want to spook Betsy by moving too fast.

But minutes later, Jean forgot that the concept of "moving too fast" existed when she pulled into the little park and saw Betsy waiting for her, leaning against her motorcycle.

Her jaw literally dropped – Jean didn't think that was a thing that actually happened, but seeing Betsy there, her pose casual but her dark eyes intense, with a helmet under one arm and her signature smirk on her face, she felt like a lightning bolt had hit her (another cliché, what was _wrong_ with her?).

Somehow, she managed to park the car and got out, her knees a little wobbly.

Betsy noticed. Of course she noticed. Her smirk widened with genuine amusement as she tossed the helmet straight at Jean. "Catch, Bambi."

Jean didn't think, just reacted instinctively. The helmet stopped in midair, then dropped gently into Jean's waiting hands.

"Not bad," Betsy said. She jerked her head toward the bike and turned to grab her own helmet off the handlebars. "Let's get going."

Then she paused and looked back. She really _looked_ at Jean for the first time that night, saw her standing there by the car, the door still half open, holding the helmet tentatively in her hands. She might be the strongest telepath in the world, but right now she looked young, and a little uncertain, and so beautiful in the moonlight.

Betsy took a deep breath to steady herself. Then she said, "Actually –" and she crossed the space that separated them so quickly that Jean was caught off guard again – "hi."

And then she was kissing her, and the helmet got caught between their bodies and Jean tossed it to the side, and Jean's hands flew to Betsy's waist automatically as Betsy's hands slid around to the back of her neck.

 _God, this girl_ , Betsy thought as she ran her fingers through Jean's long red hair, as she nibbled on Jean's lower lip and tasted her cherry lip balm.

 _"This girl" can hear you_ , came the reply as Jean's hands snuck downwards to cup Betsy's ass through her tight jeans, pulling their bodies even closer together.

This time it was Betsy whose knees weakened, and she stumbled forward a step, which made Jean stumble backward, slamming the car door.

The noise rang out like a shot in the quiet night, startling them both. They broke apart from the kiss, but Jean still held Betsy around the waist and Betsy's hands were still around Jean's neck as Jean leaned against the car.

Jean bent her head slightly, resting her forehead against Betsy's. "Hi yourself," she said with a smile.

"You left your hair down," Betsy said absently. Jean laughed and straightened up a bit, combing her hair with her fingers. "Yeah…I maybe should have put it up and then taken it out when I got here – it got a little wild on the drive over."

(She didn't have to read minds to know that the look in Betsy's eyes meant _I like it wild._ )

"And _you_ wore boots with heels," Jean said, looking down at them appreciatively, then up to meet Betsy's eyes again. "Trying to minimize the height difference?" she said with a mischievous smile.

"I – actually, yeah, that's exactly what I was doing," Betsy admitted. Jean laughed out loud at that. "You're lucky I wore flats, then," she said.

"Oh, I'm very lucky," said Betsy, her voice low. She cleared her throat, took a step back and bent down to pick up the discarded helmet, which she dusted off and handed to Jean. "So – do you want to go for a ride?"

"Sure!" said Jean, holding the helmet in one hand and taking Betsy's hand in her other. Betsy could almost taste the feelings coming off of Jean, a mix of excitement and a little apprehension and yep, there was definitely some arousal in there.

They crossed over to the bike, and Betsy helped Jean get her helmet on before fastening her own. "Ever ridden one of these before?" she said. Jean shook her head. "I didn't think so," Betsy said. "There's not much to it. Get on gently, feet on these pegs, let yourself lean with the bike around the turns. Oh – and most importantly, you're going to have to hold on to me."

"I think I can handle that," Jean said, the helmet muffling her voice but not her cheekiness.

Betsy got on first, then nodded for Jean to climb on after her. "I'm glad I didn't wear a dress tonight," Jean said as she swung her right leg over and got her feet situated on the pegs.

 _If you were straddling me like that in a dress, we'd never make it out of this parking lot,_ was Betsy's mental reply, followed instantly by _Shit! Filter!_ Jean laughed and scooted closer. The insides of her legs were snug against the backs of Betsy's thighs, and she slowly slid her hands from Betsy's hips around to clasp them in front, which had the bonus side effect of pressing Jean's entire front up against Betsy's back.

Jean felt Betsy's sharp intake of breath and grinned. "Let's get this hog on the road!" she said.

"Oh my god, please never call it a 'hog' again," Betsy said, and Jean swore she could see her eyes roll even from the back.

Betsy started up the bike, and Jean clutched her even tighter as they turned onto the road and drove into the night.


	14. Chapter 14

If you'd asked Jean Grey a few months ago what her near future held, she would have been dead wrong.

She probably wouldn't have guessed that she'd save the world. Or that as a result, she'd end up part of a newly formed superhero squad.

And she certainly wouldn't have guessed that one night, she'd find herself on the back of a motorcycle, feeling completely free, clutching tightly to a woman who had once been her enemy, a woman she now . . . had strong feelings for.

Yet here she was.

Maybe it was a little ironic for a telepath, but Jean Grey wasn't always great at letting herself _feel_. Her powers were so closely intertwined with the mysteries of the human mind that she'd always favored analysis over emotion – it seemed to her that the more she let feelings into it, the riskier her powers became.

But pressed against Betsy's back, the smell of her leather jacket and her shampoo and the night air occasionally filtering in to Jean's helmet, she let her mind relax and just feel. The thrill of how fast they were going, how vulnerable they were – even in the jet, she'd never felt more like she was flying.

The best part by far was opening her mind to Betsy's. She drove with absolute focus, exuding such a strong vibe of confidence and control that Jean would have done literally anything she asked.

 _Anything?_ an amused voice said in her head.

Jean grinned and blushed. She would have ducked her head if their helmets hadn't made that impossible. _You'd think I'd know better by now._

 _You really would_ , came Betsy's reply. Then, after a brief pause: _But I'm glad you don't._

Jean felt like she needed to clear her head a little, to regain just a bit of control over her thoughts and the situation. She experimentally moved her hands from where they were currently clenched around Betsy's waist, flexing her sore knuckles for a second before splaying her hands flat against Betsy's abdomen and caressing it lightly.

It had the desired effect: that bubble of confidence stuttered for a moment as Betsy's mind and body reacted to Jean's touch. Jean felt Betsy's abs tighten below her fingers, heard a sound in her head that could only be described as –

 _Did you just mind-growl at me?_ Jean asked.

 _No_ , was the terse reply.

Jean smiled to herself, still amazed at the response she could get from the older woman, and hugged her a little tighter, still loving the ride but now wishing it would be over soon so she could get her arms around Betsy on solid ground.

(It probably wasn't a coincidence that at the very next opportunity, Betsy executed a hasty but safe u-turn and headed back in the direction of their park.)

On the ride back, Jean relaxed, once again letting the feelings wash over her. She was so in the moment that it took her by surprise when they pulled up next to the blue car and Betsy cut the engine.

They climbed off the bike, and while Betsy secured it, Jean took off her helmet and shook out her hair, trying to undo the work of her helmet and the wind. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, combing her fingers through it from top to bottom.

She didn't see Betsy's wide-eyed stare as she finished taking off her own helmet and turned to look at Jean.

But she felt it.

Jean straightened up and opened her eyes. When they met Betsy's, and she saw the raw desire there, a prickle of heat started in her chest, then spread up to her already flushed cheeks and down to the pit of her belly . . . and lower.

Jean swallowed hard. No one had ever looked at her like that before. The closest equivalent she'd seen was maybe the way Hank looked at Raven, but even that was subdued compared to this, tempered by years of friendship and mutual respect. This . . . this was just _hunger_.

For once, Betsy didn't rein it in and make a sarcastic comment, nor did she make a move. She just stood there, letting Jean see.

Jean took a deep breath, then let it out. She didn't trust her voice at the moment, so she thought (a little haltingly), _I…I need to get something out of the car._

Betsy shook her head, trying to clear it. She was largely unsuccessful, and Jean smiled to herself as she turned to the car and grabbed a blanket out of the backseat.

"I thought it would be more comfortable for looking at the stars," she said quietly. Then she took a couple of steps and held out her hand. Betsy took it, and Jean could feel a little tremor. _I didn't think you were THAT old_ , she thought, and Betsy let out a snort of laughter.

"Well played, Red," she said. Jean tugged her gently over to the grass and let go of her hand so she could spread out the blanket.

Jean sat down first, straightening her legs out in front of her with her ankles crossed, leaning back on her hands. She shifted her weight for a second so she could pat the blanket beside her.

Betsy sat down, and Jean felt – was it amusement? nostalgia? – when she took her usual pose from the astral plane, knees bent up in front of her and her arms loosely on top of them.

They sat side-by-side like that for a minute or so, inches apart. Then Jean slowly lay down on her back, looking up at the night sky, and Betsy did the same after hesitating briefly. Jean bumped Betsy's shoulder with her own. "What are you thinking about? You're quiet tonight."

Betsy turned her head to look at her quizzically. "Since when do you have to ask that?" Jean shrugged. "Since I'm trying to keep it in my pants tonight. My mind, that is. Not that my mind is in my . . . pants." Betsy's laugh had her laughing too now. "Shut up! I mean . . . I'm trying to keep my mind to myself."

That got a nod. Then they were quiet for a moment until Betsy said, "Well, I'm trying to keep my _hands_ to myself, so it sounds like we're on the same page."

Now Jean turned on her side and looked at her earnestly. "No. We most assuredly are _not_ on the same page about that."

Then she boldly leaned forward and kissed Betsy.

It wasn't a perfect kiss. They were at kind of an odd angle – Betsy was lying on her back with just her head turned, and Jean was on her side – and Jean wasn't super experienced at this kind of thing, okay at _all_ , so she missed and sort of got the side of Betsy's mouth.

But in an instant, Betsy had rolled onto her side, and tangled their legs together, and now their mouths slotted together so perfectly that Jean let out a breathy sigh, bringing up her free hand to bury it in Betsy's hair. Betsy pulled their lips apart, both of them already panting just from that brief contact. Her eyes were closed as Jean looked at her, their faces millimeters apart.

"What is it?" Jean said gently.

Betsy opened her eyes and rested her free hand almost gingerly on Jean's waist. "Jean Grey," she said raggedly, "you're going to kill me." Jean didn't say anything, just waited for her to go on. Betsy couldn't help herself – she trailed gentle kisses down her jawline, down that sweet creamy throat, and murmured into the spot where Jean's pulse hammered against her lips: "Can't . . . talk right now."

 _I can think a little better_ , she said inside Jean's head. Jean sighed and leaned her head back, giving Betsy better access to press little kisses up and down her throat.

 _See, that's the problem right there_ , Betsy went on.

"W-what?" Jean whispered. Betsy didn't stop, so she knew she hadn't done anything wrong, but she was still confused.

Now Betsy worked her way back up, holding her hand very carefully still on Jean's waist, kissing up her jawline.

 _The problem –_ and now Betsy nuzzled Jean with her nose, urging her to tilt her head forward – _the problem is that I am trying to control myself with you, and –_ they found each other's lips again – _those little SOUNDS you keep letting out are making it damn near impossible._

Now Jean understood. And she couldn't help the smirk that came to her face, or the mixed feelings of smug satisfaction and awe that she could take a woman like this apart like this, any more than she could help the rush of arousal that coiled in her belly like a panther about to pounce.

"Well," she said, pulling away a little so she could speak right into Betsy's ear, "if we can't trust you to control yourself, maybe you should let someone else drive."

And before Betsy had time to react, Jean had swiftly rolled her onto her back. She looked down at Betsy and bit her lower lip in a way that looked deceptively thoughtful and innocent, given that she was somehow now straddling Betsy and gently pinning her wrists against the softness of the blanket.

Jean leaned down a little closer, and her hair fell around their faces, making a perfect curtain that blocked out almost all the starlight.

 _I heard that,_ said a playful, taunting voice in Betsy's head. _Did you want me to move so you can see the stars?_

"What stars?" Betsy managed to whisper, before Jean closed the distance between them and claimed her lips once more.

They kissed urgently at first, a little sloppily, teeth-crashing lip-bruising _hungry_ kisses, because Jean was controlling the pace now, and she was so, so worked up. Suddenly she found herself beyond conscious thought, gave herself over completely to _feeling_ , and she kissed Betsy with this desperate need to consume that she didn't know she was capable of.

And in an odd way, it strengthened Betsy's resolve. She could feel the sensations starting to drag Jean under. Betsy had never been so turned on in her life – she _ached_ for her, it was actually painful – but she could feel the other girl's control slipping and knew she had to slow things down without making Jean feel rejected.

Jean released Betsy's wrists then, and she was free to let her hands roam over Jean's body – Betsy would be careful not to cross any lines tonight, but god she had to get her hands on that hair, that beautiful soft skin.

She ran both hands through the wild tangle of Jean's hair, starting at her forehead and working her way around to grip the back of her neck. She tried to slow the slide of their tongues against one another, but Jean was making these little moans now each time her tongue slipped into Betsy's mouth, and rocking against her a little, and okay this wasn't working so great.

Betsy skimmed her hands down over Jean's shoulder blades, down to where her black Henley hung just past the hem of her jeans. She bunched it up in her hands until she could slide her hands under it, pressing her palms against Jean's bare waist.

They both gasped a little at the contact, and Jean finally pulled back a little. "Hey," Betsy said quietly, stroking her hands gently up and down Jean's lower back in a way that she hoped was soothing, not arousing.

"H-hey," said Jean breathlessly. "Um . . . wow."

And then she just lay down and snuggled against Betsy, her head in the hollow between Betsy's breasts and throat, her arms tucked in tight against Betsy's sides. They lay there silently as Betsy continued her gentle motions on Jean's back, and gradually their breathing slowed to normal.

Betsy felt embarrassment start to creep up in Jean's mind. "Nope," she said, "stop that shit immediately."

Jean raised herself onto her elbows and looked at her. Her hair was unbelievably wild from all the convertible/motorcycle/makeout action, her cheeks were still a little flushed, and her lips were swollen and full and it was all Betsy could do not to pull her right back down.

"Really?" Jean said, a little shyly. "It's all you can do not to pull me right back down?"

Betsy made a face that meant _Well, duh,_ which got a grin from Jean. Then she smoothed Jean's hair back from her forehead again and leaned her head up to plop a quick kiss on her nose. "You drive me crazy," Betsy said simply as she rested her head back on the blanket again.

"Sad for you that it's not mutual," Jean said, so seriously that Betsy had to dig her fingers into her sides and tickle her in revenge.

They sat up, slowly and a little longingly, and looked at each other. "I guess we should get going," Jean said with a sigh, and Betsy pulled a face as they got to their feet, still a little dazed. She helped Jean fold the blanket up and walked her to the car, where Jean tossed the blanket into the backseat.

Then she turned to face Betsy, took a deep breath, and said, "I want you to come to the school with me someday. Not tonight. And maybe that's not what you want – but I thought you should know that it's what _I_ want."

She planted a quick kiss on Betsy's lips before hopping into the car, saying, "So start thinking of your objections now, because tomorrow night I'm going to crush them all."

Betsy stood there, stunned, unable to do anything but watch as Jean pulled out of the park and onto the main road.

Jean tore off down the road, grinning. She realized that she hadn't boxed up quite _all_ of her thoughts about having Betsy come to the school – she'd kept one that one essential thought on hand for when she needed it.

 _Oh, and by the way,_ she remembered to send back toward the park – _you're an amazing kisser._

Jean Grey decided right then and there that she needed to render Betsy Braddock speechless at every opportunity.


	15. Chapter 15

"Okay, let's talk."

By now, Jean was used to the fact that Betsy was incapable of greeting someone in the traditional manner. She just jumped right in with whatever she wanted to say.

That didn't mean she couldn't give her a hard time about it, though.

"Could you at least wait until I get out of the car?"

Betsy uncrossed her arms and straightened up from where she was leaning against her bike. "No," she said, pointing at Jean menacingly. "You stay in the car. No distracting me with your feminine wiles and super soft blanket tonight." She stalked over and jumped into the passenger seat.

"And what makes you think the car is any safer?" said Jean, trying to hide her smirk as she conjured up a vivid image of Betsy on top of her, kissing her in the driver's seat.

She turned in time to see Betsy blush. (Well, maybe she didn't see it given the time of night and the fact that Betsy had blown out the single streetlight in the park. Maybe she just felt it. She never knew, nor did she particularly care at this point.)

Betsy turned to face her, leaning back against the car door and fixing Jean with a glare. "I'm pissed, you know," she said.

"Not really," said Jean. "I'd say you're more like . . . annoyed that I caught you off-guard and then drove off like that last night, and apprehensive about what I said."

"Don't tell me how I feel," Betsy snapped. She instantly regretted it, more so when she felt Jean's hurt, but she wasn't good at apologies. "Just accept that I _want_ to be pissed at you and pretend like I am."

Jean found her irrational behavior mildly amusing, as always, which helped them both move past the awkward moment where Betsy had accidentally tapped into one of Jean's worst fears.

"All right," the redhead said, her placid Jean Grey persona comfortably in place once more. "Let's talk, then."

Betsy huffed out a breath. "I'm still mad that you dropped a bomb on me and then drove off like that. But – it did give me time to think about it. And I think it's the stupidest idea I ever heard."

Jean fought so hard not to roll her eyes, and she actually won. But of course Betsy knew anyway. "What specific concerns do you have?" she said mildly.

"Let's see," Betsy said. "One, I'm a little too old to be a student and a little too antisocial to be a teacher. There's literally no place for me there. Two, I tried to kill your furry blue friend once because, oh yeah, three, I was on the wrong side of the apocalypse!"

"Wasn't that four?" Jean said, teasing.

"No," Betsy said, frowning as she went through her list again. "'There's no place for me there' is the same one as 'too old to be a student.'"

"Ah," said Jean quite seriously. "Anything else?"

"Were those reasons not . . . convincing enough for you?" Betsy said through gritted teeth.

Jean shrugged. "They were okay. Not super impressive, considering you had 24 hours to think about it." Before Betsy could respond, she went on: "There's something I want you to see."

Betsy looked at her, one eyebrow quirked, more than a little annoyed now. "Well?" she said, looking around the car a little.

 _In here_ , said Jean. Then she leaned over the console and beckoned Betsy to her with a finger. Betsy reluctantly leaned toward her, then got much less reluctant as their lips met for the first time that night. Jean twined the hand that she'd used to beckon around the back of Betsy's neck and kissed her relentlessly until she was gasping for breath.

"That," panted Jean, "is how I'd like us to say hi from now on." Then she looked into Betsy's eyes, took her by the hand and said "Okay, here we go."

Suddenly Betsy found herself in something like the astral plane, but darker. And she didn't make this.

She still felt Jean's hand in hers and turned to look at her. Jean looked only mildly surprised at their surroundings. In her other hand, she held a small metal box, which she looked down and apparently noticed for the first time. _Oh! Here they are_ , she said.

 _What?_ Betsy asked, completely unsure where this was going.

 _My thoughts_ , Jean said cheerfully. _Hang on a second, I have to remember the password_.

Betsy knew you're not supposed to learn other people's passwords, but since they were inside Jean's mind, she had no choice. _Ra1nbowUnicornz?_ she thought, amused, and she knew that in the real world, Jean would definitely have blushed.

 _I . . . figured out a way to lock some of my thoughts away_ , Jean said hesitantly. _I put them in this box, and I think up a password, and they don't bubble up when I'm . . . distracted._ They shared a small grin at that, both of them remembering the previous night. _Well, shall we?_ said Jean, gesturing with the box.

 _Shall we what?_ Betsy replied, still not sure what the hell was going on.

 _I want to show you a memory._

And just as suddenly as she'd appeared in the darkness of Jean's mind, Betsy was suddenly transported to a well-appointed, tidy office. She recognized the bald man behind the desk as Charles Xavier, and when she saw Jean closing the door before sitting down across from him, she realized Jean had actually put her in the memory somehow. _Did she invent a damn Pensieve_? Betsy grumbled, and she heard Jean's answering laugh from somewhere.

"Well," memory-Jean was saying, "so I have this super awesome girl in my life, and I want her to come here. And I think there's probably nothing on this earth that she's less likely to do."

"Okay," said the bald man. "Let's talk."

Betsy knew that Jean and the professor had talked about her, but she was surprised (and flattered) at how casually Jean had called her a 'super awesome girl.' And the way she talked, it almost sounded like they were dating or something. Hmm.

"Well, as you know, my friend–" (Betsy preferred the term 'super awesome girl,' but whatever) "has psionic abilities. She's a powerful mutant, a tough fighter, and I think she'd be a wonderful addition to this school."

"Yes, it quite sounds like it," the professor said. "What's the issue, then?"

"She has . . . some emotional baggage," memory-Jean said. "Feels bad for almost ending the world, or something."

The professor smiled, and Betsy didn't find it as patronizing as she'd expected. More . . . warm and genuine. "You know she'd be welcome here," he said gently. "Storm is here now. Magneto . . . will be here again, I'm sure of it." He reached out a hand across the desk, and Jean clasped it with her own. "There will always be a place for her here, Jean," he said.

"I know that, and you know that," said Jean. "But – I don't think she'll believe it."

"Well," said the professor, "Perhaps you should show her how _you_ see her. What she truly means to you."

"I can try," Jean said. Then, in a much quieter voice: "She doesn't think she's worth it."

Betsy held her breath. She expected the professor to spout off some platitude about how everyone is 'worth it,' but he just squeezed Jean's hand and said, "I'm very happy that she has you in her life, then."

As memory-Jean stepped out of the office, Betsy found herself in the darkness with mind-Jean for a split second before she was abruptly back in the car with real-Jean.

She sat there for a second, stunned.

Then she looked Jean in the eye and said, "I just thought of a fourth reason I shouldn't come to your school."

Jean had a tiny spark of hope in her eyes, but it was quickly extinguished and replaced by sadness at those words. She swallowed, fighting back tears of disappointment, and squared her shoulders bravely. "And what is that?" she asked, dreading the answer.

Betsy flashed her a quintessential Psylocke smirk and said simply, "I'm in love with one of the students."

It took what seemed like an eternity for the meaning of her words to dawn on Jean. Betsy watched her closely, and she knew the second it hit her because the broken streetlamp in the park burst back into glorious light.

But it was nothing compared to the light in Jean's eyes as she threw her arms around Betsy's neck, pulling her into a tight hug and then pushing her back slightly so Jean could search her face for any sign that she was kidding.

 _Not kidding,_ she heard Betsy say in her mind.

And then they were kissing, and laughing, and shit now Jean was actually crying, but Betsy didn't care in the slightest.

"Wait," said Betsy, pulling back.

"What?" said Jean, out of breath as Betsy's kisses always made her. "Oh – did you want me to say it back? Because duh, obviously I love you too!"

Betsy laughed at that. _You really are a fucking teenager, aren't you?_ she teased, and okay maybe it wasn't the most appropriate time to bring up _that_ particular fact, but Jean was laughing now too at the memory, at all those early meetings when Betsy was prickly and Jean was pouty and god, just look at them now.

"That's not what I meant," she said, shaking her head, trying to get back on topic. "I meant – that just for the record, I'm predicting that this whole 'me coming to your school' thing is going to be a disaster. So prepare yourself for the world's biggest 'I told you so.'" She held her breath and once again waited for Jean to understand, and to pounce on her again.

Both of which she did.

There was a knock at the front door of the school. Colossus was on his way to answer it when Jean Grey raced past him, yelling "I GOT IT!" Then she turned, composed herself, and said, "Piotr, would you please go get Professor Xavier for me?" He nodded and hurried off to get the professor.

Jean patted her hair, took a deep breath, and reached out to open the door. _I saw that_ , she heard Betsy's mocking voice say in her mind.

Jean threw the door open. "Saw what?" she said, a grin on her face and one hand on her hip. Betsy mimicked the motion of patting her hair, and Jean was about to pull her in to shut her up with a kiss when someone cleared his throat behind Jean.

Jean jumped about a foot, spun around, and said, "Professor! That was fast!"

 _Breathe_ , said Betsy. So Jean did.

Then she took Betsy by the hand and led her over to the Professor. "Professor Charles Xavier," Jean said, unable to keep the gleeful tone out of her voice, "I would like to introduce Elizabeth Braddock."

"Delighted to make your acquaintance, Ms. Braddock," said the professor as they shook hands.

"Please," said Betsy with a sidelong grin at Jean, "call me Psylocke."


End file.
